


Partner in Crime

by 0ctaviablaked



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Bellarke is the main ship pretty much, Crime Ring AU, F/M, If you'd even call it that, Minor Emori/John Murphy - Freeform, Minor Monty Green/Nathan Miller, Minor Raven Reyes/Kyle Wick, Minor Violence, Suggestive humor?, Swearing, but the others are there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6151669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0ctaviablaked/pseuds/0ctaviablaked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, Bellamy Blake knows that crime rings don't have open-auditions. It's bad news, and basically asking to get killed or arrested. But in light of recent events, no matter how much Murphy and Miller insist that The Rebels are fine even though they're down two members, he really needs some new muscle. </p><p>He's pretty sure that the spunky blonde he ended up hiring isn't worth the headache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little idea I wanted to try out. It's going to be my first multi-chapter fic, but it'll probably be a bit shorter than most multi-chapter fics, probably only 3-4 parts. Hopefully all goes well. Enjoy!

Okay. So the thing was, Bellamy knew that crime rings didn’t exactly have open auditions. It was practically an all-call to every police officer in the area, and having a bunch of cops on your tail wasn’t exactly good for flying under the radar. But the problem was, after Maya died, and Jasper lost his mind because of it, he was kind of in need of some new muscle, or at least a tech genius. And no, he wasn’t stupid enough to flat out advertise that The Rebels were looking for new members, but word had its way of getting around quickly in his line of work, so that’s how he found himself sitting with Murphy and Miller in a shady club on the outskirts of town in the late hours of a Friday night.  
The three had already sat through a ridiculous amount of people, all of them trying to prove their experience and skill and value they would add to the team. It was like some sort of sick, twisted job interview process. 

“This is never going to work,” Murphy groaned as he finished off his third glass of whiskey. “One look at these people and you can tell they’d be dead in a day.”

“I don’t know,” Miller mused. “The one with the cauliflower ear looked like he might make it a full week.”

“Would you two just shut up?” Bellamy snapped irritably. As much as he hated to admit it, Murphy was right. No one that showed up had anything to offer. “We’ve still got the rest of the—“ He broke off at the sound of the empty chair at their table being pulled out.

“This seat taken?” a pretty blonde asked, eyebrow quirked up.

“Sorry, princess,” Bellamy snorted, looking her up and down. She was busty and stood at five-foot-nothing, her hair hanging loose around her shoulders. She wasn’t one of their kind. She was just a girl in a bar looking for a hook up. “We’re not looking for any bedwarmers tonight. This is strictly business.”

“Come on, Bellamy,” Murphy sidled. “Surely we can make an exception for this one? Just this once. She looks like your type. Maybe you’d loosen up a little if you got a decent lay.”

Before Bellamy could open his mouth to tell his partner to keep his shut, the blonde piped up. “I’m flattered, boys, but I’m not looking for a good time. Doubt any of you could give one to me anyways.” She looked at them haughtily. “I’m looking for a job.”

“You?” Miller asked incredulously, choking on his drink. 

Bellamy rolled his eyes at his friend's stupidity and clapped him on the back. He was interested now, even if it was purely because of the attitude she exuded, not the possibility that she possessed any useful skills. “Our line of work seems too dirty for the likes of you.”

“You all seemed to think I was a prostitute, so,” she pointed out.

“Touché,” Murphy mumbled.

“It’s not often we see ladies who look like you beating around with guys like us, so you’ll forgive us,” Bellamy explained. Most of the women he had worked with were comparable to Amazonian warriors, all muscles and leather and crude humor. The blonde sitting in front of him looked like a lost, mild-mannered, rich, city girl.

“It’s my greatest strength,” she beamed cheekily. “Men like you are usually too horny to think an ass and a pair of tits could be stealing your credit card numbers.”

At that, Bellamy sucked in a breath and hoisted Miller and Murphy out of their seats, hauling them to an empty corner of the room and promising to be back in a moment. 

“I like her,” Murphy declared before the other two could get a word out. 

“You like _looking_ at her,” Bellamy corrected.

“Plus, Emori would kill you before you had a chance to explain,” Miller pointed out. Murphy snapped his mouth shut at the mention of his girlfriend.

“She’s too small,” Bellamy reasoned. “If we’re in the middle of something, and she gets stuck in a bad situation or she’s got a knife to her throat, she’s dead. There’s no way she can take on the people we get involved with.”

“She looks smart,” Miller sympathized. “She’s certainly got the attitude for this kind of life. Maybe she’s the computer whiz we need.”

“She’s not. Maya knew everyone in her field—she would have mentioned Blondie before if she was a threat or possible ally.”

“So it’s a no,” Bellamy confirmed. Miller and Murphy looked uncomfortable, but they nodded in agreement. They made their way back to their table where the woman had taken the time to grab another drink for herself. “Here’s the deal, princess. We’re not looking for anyone who _thinks_ they’re tough, and is only going to be a burden in the end. So unfortunately, we are not in need of your…services.”

Rather than throwing a fit or crying or begging, or whatever the three expected her to do, the blonde shrugged and sipped at her drink. “It was worth a try,” she sighed. “Suppose it means you were at least thinking about it, considering you took longer to discuss me than anyone else.” She stood and pushed the chair back in, heading back into the small crowd. When she called back to them, they heard her rather than saw her through the dingy light of the bar. “Hope you don’t mind the extra gin and tonic on your tab. Thanks for the drink, boys.” 

\----

Clarke sauntered through the bar casually. Yeah, she had been hoping for a job, something to do rather than sit around and listen to her mother complain about how she had “dropped out of the most prestigious medical school in the country, therefore ruining any future she could hope to have.” Eventually, after hearing the same version of the I’m-disappointed-in-your-life-choices speech four hundred times, it started to get tedious. But she hadn’t banked on getting in with The Rebels anyways, so it wasn’t that much of a disappointment when they turned her down. Besides, she had gotten a free drink out of it all, so she wasn’t complaining.

Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke caught sight of Bellamy throwing up his hands in exasperation when one of his partners said something stupid, and then she watched as he stormed off through the back door of bar. If his friends were being as obnoxious as they seemed, his departure was presumably to take a smoke break in the alley. Close behind him though, followed a large, bald man with a distinct cauliflower ear. Immediately, Clarke began to push her way through the crowd to follow the men. Earlier, after he had been rejected by Blake, he had sworn he’d kill the leader. Clarke had a hunch that he didn’t make threats lightly.

Sure enough, by the time she had cracked open the door, she heard the muffled grunts of a fight. Next thing she knew, a blood-covered Bellamy Blake was forced up against the wall directly across from where she had stayed hidden just inside the building, and Cauliflower Ear’s back was towards her. Bellamy gave a derisive grunt and Clarke saw a flash of metal as a gun was shoved up against his temple. Stealthily, she crept into the alleyway and behind the man, and delivered a quick, solid hit to the side of his head. She tried not to think too much about the sickening crunch that came with it, and whether it had come from her own hand or his jaw.

Bellamy took advantage of the momentary distraction and punched his attacker in the gut, managing to claw his meaty hand off of his throat and duck underneath his arm. The bald man grunted and spun around to backhand Clarke across the face with the barrel of his weapon. She stumbled backwards and groaned in pain, but spat blood out of her mouth and kept on her feet. Before either she or Bellamy could regain their senses enough to counterattack, the hulking man lunged forward, grabbed Clarke by the collar, and wrapped an arm around her neck to hold her to his chest. “So now you’ve got little girls fighting your battles, huh, Blake?” he sneered, pistol pressed right against her head now. 

Bellamy balked, his breathing loud and labored. He’d never admit it out loud, but she’d saved his life, and now she was going to die because of it. He wasn’t a hero by any means, but he had a thing about girls around his sister’s age being in danger. To his surprise though, the princess didn’t even look concerned. She just rolled her eyes and slammed one pointy elbow into Cauliflower Ear’s kidney and ducked out of his loosened grip as he doubled over. The gun went off, and for a split second, Bellamy had thought that her recklessness had gotten her shot, until she had straightened up and drove her knee straight into his face. With a horrible crack of bone—Bellamy assumed his nose—the man collapsed on the concrete.

“He’s out,” the blonde said cheerfully, as if the observation hadn’t already been made.

“What the hell, princess?!”

Clarke shrugged. “Not my fault you needed your ass saved.”

“I had it handled!”

“You had a gun to your head. You literally brought your fists to a gunfight”

Sirens blared and Bellamy swore. Of course someone had heard the gunshot and called the police. It was just his luck, really. Here he was with a bloody, unconscious man, and a tiny blonde who had just knocked out and broken the nose of the said unconscious man. Both she and Bellamy were covered in blood, and it was difficult to say if it belonged to themselves or to Cauliflower Ear. They looked for all the world to be the guilty party, even though Bellamy hadn’t been the one to start the fight.

“Christ, we’ve got to get out of here,” he said, running a hand through his hair nervously. Sure, plenty of guys got into fights every once and a while between colleagues, but in no way could this situation couldn’t be framed as a simple misunderstanding between friends.

“You want to look even more suspicious?” she snapped back. “No, we’ve got to stay, come up with a story.”

“How?! How do we make this look like an accident?”

The woman huffed in exasperation and rucked up her shirt. “Follow my lead.”

“I swear to God, if you get me arrested—“

“What’s going on back here?” a cop asked, hand drifting towards his gun when he stepped into the alleyway and took notice of the man on the ground.  
“It’s all under control now, officer,” she said, her voice suddenly shaken and innocent. Bellamy fought not to look astonished. It was like a switch had been flipped, and she went from a know-it-all, nosey blonde, to a trembling little girl in half a second.

“What happened?” The cop looked between her rumpled clothes and the red that covered Bellamy’s face and hands. “This guy bothering you, Miss?”

“Oh no,” she said, forcing a shaky laugh and pointing to the bald man—still out cold on the ground. “He—he was harassing me inside, and I wanted to leave, so my friend followed me to make sure I made it out okay, and he saved me.”

“He pulled a gun on her. I had to knock him out. I had no other choice,” Bellamy chimed in. “I couldn’t let him kill her.”

The officer nodded gravely at the situation. “I’ll let you off with a warning, kid. It’s technically assault, but it was in self-defense. Can’t say I’d do any differently if it was my girl with some creep all over her. You two go on out the front, go home, get cleaned up. I’ll take care of this son of a bitch.”

Bellamy opened his mouth to protest that no, she wasn’t _his_ girl. She was just some girl who he had run into, but he was cut off when he received a sharp pinch to his side, disguised as a pale arm wrapped around him for her own comfort. “Thank you, sir,” she said with a watery smile. Pulling her to his chest tightly and giving a grateful nod to the policeman, Bellamy ushered her inside. The second the door shut behind them, their facades dropped and they untangled themselves from each other, making a beeline straight for the front door. 

“Way to follow my lead,” Clarke growled out of the corner of her mouth. Subtly, she rubbed her jaw from where she had been hit. “You nearly blew it, and _you’re_ supposedly the professional.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just keep walking. Don’t make eye contact with anyone out front. You’re coming with us.” Bellamy swiped a hand over his face in an attempt to remove some of the blood. “Miller, Murphy,” he barked, straight faced as they walked by. “We’re leaving.”

“What happened to you two? Why are you covered in blood?”

“We’ll explain later. The princess is in.”

One of the boys whistled. Neither Clarke nor Bellamy turned to see which. “The princess turned out to be useful after all, huh?” 

“It’s Clarke,” she corrected.

“Yeah, alright, princess,” Murphy smirked. 

“Murphy. Shut your mouth and act like you aren’t with us. Don’t draw attention to yourself. They’ve got police cruisers all down the street,” Bellamy snapped just before they went outside, effectively ending the taunting. Everyone knew not to mess around when law enforcement got involved. He placed a hand on Clarke’s back and firmly steered her away from the flashing blue and red lights, towards where his own car was parked. Luckily, the officers were still busy trying to deal with a man in handcuffs, shouting something about finding the blonde bitch that broke his nose and killing her.

Miller shot Murphy an incredulous look before glancing back at Clarke and Bellamy. “Woah. Did you two just—?”

“Not now,” Clarke hissed shortly.

He fell silent, and as soon as the four had turned the corner, out of sight of the club, they hopped in the black Suburban that was waiting on the curb. Bellamy took the wheel and sped off as fast as he could without causing suspicion while Clarke took the front passenger seat without hesitation, leaving the two other men to scramble into the backseat.

“Bellamy,” Miller whined. “Newbies never get the front seat.” Bellamy just shook his head in disappointment, like he was dealing with a child.

Clarke piped up before he could say anything else. “I’d say I deserve shotgun today, considering I just saved you two from peeling your boss off the pavement.”

“ _You_ saved _Bellamy Blake_ from getting his head bashed in?”

“Mhmm.”

“Shut up, Clarke,” Bellamy huffed indignantly, his grip tightening on the wheel involuntarily.

The blonde kicked her combat boot-clad feet up on the dash smugly and punched the button to turn on the radio, making loud, guitar-heavy music pour through the speakers. Above the noise, she smirked and shouted. 

“Whatever you say, Boss.”


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, just to help set things up. More action in the next chapter hopefully! Enjoy!

So Clarke has a lot of questions.

And Bellamy doesn’t exactly blame her. After all, she did just knock a full grown man out cold, get accepted into a crime ring, and then not even five minutes later, she gets hauled into a car with three of its members on the way to their safe house. It’s a lot to take in at once. It’s overwhelming, it’s exciting, it’s scary. So yeah, he gets it 100%.

But the thing is, she never actually shuts up. 

The entire drive back, she sang along with the radio under her breath while Bellamy and Murphy and Miller talked politics. The second they pulled into the driveway, already filled with cars, she was spouting questions left and right.

“Why does this place look so normal?” she asked, looking up at the surprisingly un-extraordinary house.

“Did you expect, a drug den?” Miller snorted.

“Well—“

“Actually, don’t answer that.”

“Also, why do you guys drive a Suburban? I thought you would drive something cooler, like, I don’t know. At least, like, a Prius.”

“If you want to buy us a Prius that fits all of us in cases of emergency with your trust fund, princess, be our guest.”

Clarke shot a glare at Murphy as they walked inside. The place was nice. A whole lot nicer than she had expected, if she was being honest. She had been expecting to walk into a dark, dingy place that smelled like smoke and sex. This looked like any practical home that any domestic family could live in. The front hallway was empty other than a small table with a vase of fresh flowers on it. The walls were bare, no paintings, not family pictures, not even any hooks. It became clear that even though the place was lived in and used for work, it wasn’t really a home. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant—all of you? Who’s all of you? How many of you are there?”

“Eight total. Nine now, including you,” Bellamy answered, leading the way to the main part of the house.

“Who even owns this place? Does anyone live here, like permanently?”

“That would be me,” a girl with dark hair and red jacket chimed in, appearing in the kitchen as it from nowhere. She had a screwdriver in her hand and her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Clarke was so stunned by the interruption that it took her a few moments to realize the brace around her knee. “I inherited it when my parents died, so I figured why not turn it into a place where a whole bunch of people can do illegal things together.”

“And _that_ would be Raven,” Bellamy said by way of introduction, a proud smile on his face. “She’s our resident mechanic and gadgets nerd.”

Raven rolled her eyes good-naturedly and hoisted herself up onto the granite countertop. “You know, you could add bomb technician to that list too if you would ever, oh, I don’t know, _let me build my freaking bomb.”_

“You know that a bomb would just get us arrested, Reyes,” another man snorted as he walked down a set of stairs. “You must be the new girl. The one that isn’t here to sleep with Bellamy. I’m Kyle Wick.” Clarke raised an eyebrow and glanced at the people that had congregated in the kitchen. “I got a text from Miller,” Wick explained. “It said, and I quote, ‘Bringing home a newbie. She’s small and blonde, but she is NOT a prostitute. Seriously. Even suggest it, and she’ll break your nose.’” Miller had the decency to look embarrassed, but he just shrugged. “So I’m guessing you broke some noses tonight.” At that, Miller’s face lit up, but before he could launch into a long-winded story, Bellamy cut him off. 

“While you fill them in, I’m taking Clarke to meet the rest. She’s got to get integrated into things, and then Emori can start filling her in on plans and covers.”

“You make yourself sound like a spy organization,” Clarke snorted, but she waved goodbye to Raven and the other men and followed Bellamy into the basement. The lights down there were dimmer, but what the lamps lacked in illumination was made up for by the fact that the light from the screens of computers lit up the space. Two girls were sprawled out on a couch, one with some crazy, braided hairdo, and the other with a tattoo wrapping around her eye. Braids was cleaning a gun, and Tattoo was hanging upside down and messing with her phone.

“That’s Emori,” Bellamy said, nodding to the girl with the phone who glanced up and nodded uninterestedly. “She’s in charge of intel, strategies, that sort of thing. Anything to do with collecting information and not getting us caught or killed is her area of expertise. And the other one is Zoe—” 

“Monroe,” she corrected, not bothering to divert her attention from the gun in her hands.

“She’s the best shot we have.” 

Clarke nodded her greetings before catching sight of a man in a darker corner of the basement. “What about the kid staring at the wall?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

“That’s Jasper,” Bellamy sighed in a low tone. “He’s—ah—he’s mourning the loss of a…friend. She was our main tech person. Intercepted all news that we’d be interested in. Kept us out of a lot of situations that the authorities had figured out about. We’re a little screwed without her, and without Jasper, we’re a little shorthanded. It’s the reason we were looking for help tonight. He’s sort of…on a mental leave for an indefinite amount of time.”

Clarke nodded in understanding. The vacant expression on the man’s face was enough to tell her he was grieving heavily. It had been the same look she saw in the mirror every day for months after her father died. “I’ve got a friend,” she suggested with a shrug. “He’s good with computers. I could talk to him about all of this.” She made a vague gesture with her hand.

“Yeah, we can talk about it later.” Clarke stifled a yawn, and Bellamy looked at his watch. “It’s late,” he commented, even though technically, it was just really early. “There’ll be more time to go over things tomorrow. I’ve got to get home.” It wasn’t her business really, but she was curious as to why he had to leave. It’s not like he was young enough to have a curfew, or to have to abide by his parents’ rules. And she had just kind of assumed that since he was in charge, he hung around here most of the time. No one else seemed surprised by it. Monroe and Emori gave him distracted waves, Wick clapped him on the back, and Raven told him to tell Octavia hello for her.

“Octavia?” Clarke questioned, as soon as the front door swung shut and Bellamy’s car pulled out of the driveway. “He’s got a girlfriend?”

Murphy snorted and draped his arm around Emori’s shoulders. She had come up from the basement to see Bellamy out while Monroe tried to coax Jasper out of his stupor to take him home. “Jealous, princess?”

“Octavia’s his sister,” Emori explained, elbowing Murphy. “That’s all we’ll really tell you. The rest is up to him if he shares it or not. There are only two real rules around here, and the first is don’t mention Octavia Blake, and you don’t get the silent treatment.”

“The second,” Wick piped up, “is never assume Reyes is a cripple just because of her brace.”

“Yeah. Don’t even think about it, blondie. I can still kick your ass with one good leg.”

“Duly noted,” Clarke confirmed seriously. 

They all stayed up for a while longer, just talking and joking. It was easy and unhurried, and not all business like she had feared it might be. There were no underlying feelings of hostility between the people in the house, and Clarke found herself realizing that she liked it there. She liked these people, and she was pretty sure she was going to like this job. She learned a lot about the dynamics too, just by watching how everyone interacted with each other. Murphy liked to act tough and mean, but a single, pointed look from Emori, and he was putty in her hands. Raven had Wick wrapped around her finger, and as much as she denied even tolerating his presence, Clarke could see the glimmer of affection in her eyes whenever he made a particularly dumb joke. It was a shame too, because if Raven wasn’t so obviously into someone else, Clarke would have considered making a move.

Finally, everyone trickled out, until it was just Clarke and Raven hanging around the counter and eating what was left of a bag of Doritos. “I’m going to head up to bed,” Raven yawned. Before Clarke could form words, she added, “And no, I do not need help. I’m perfectly capable of climbing the steps.”

Clarke smirked. “And I perfectly remember rule number two, so what I _was_ going to say was, I hope your sorry ass doesn’t fall down the stairs.” She stuck her tongue out childishly, earning a grin from the other woman. “What I was actually going to ask was if you minded if I crashed here for a while? My mom…she kind of said she’d stop helping me pay my rent if I didn’t go back to college, and since I just picked up this….I figure, I’m not going back to college. It would only be for a few weeks, until I find somewhere affordable to—“

“Griffin,” Raven cut her off. “There’s a third rule we failed to mention. The safe house is always open to anyone, at any time, for as long as they want. No strings attached. You just have to do your own laundry and buy your own groceries.”

Clarke beamed. “In that case, I should probably tell you the truth. You should probably plan on me moving in, because I’m not planning on looking for another place to stay.”

Raven just shook her head and laughed. “Figures. In that case, there’s a fourth rule that comes with the house.” Clarke tilted her head, waiting. “If you wake me up before ten, someone is getting stabbed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little boring, I know, but it sets up for other things to happen.


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I wrote this today instead of a paper for class. I'd say it was a good use of my time.
> 
> Also, I changed it from being a gang, to being more of a crime ring because I realized that when I think about gangs, I picture scrawny with boys with bandanas and their boxers showing while their pants are hanging around closer to their knees than their waists. 
> 
> Anyways. Enjoy!

Clarke adjusted fast. Everyone will give her that. It took all of about a day for her to memorize everyone’s names, positions, and relations with everyone else. She fit in right away, making herself right at home in Raven’s spare bedroom as well as in training and everyone’s hearts. Even Bellamy would admit that Clarke felt like a natural addition to the little bunch of criminals. If he was being completely honest, he would even admit that he had taken a particular liking to her, despite the copious amounts of painkillers he had started consuming as a result of her persistence and antics.

What Bellamy and the rest won’t give Clarke, is that she takes the news of her cover well.

“I’m supposed to be _what?_ ” she practically screeched when Emori had told her how it was going to be. The other girl seemed to have known how she would take it before she even said anything, if the apologetic look on her face was enough to go by. She and Monroe had come to break the news, so it didn’t feel like she was being attacked by everyone all at once.

“Bellamy and Miller and I discussed it at length,” Emori began, trying to explain, “It fits. It would keep you safe, and a secret from anyone who decides to meddle in our affairs. You’d be acting like a secret weapon of sorts. The rest of us, we’ve been seen out in public, and everyone in our line of work knows we’re associated with The Rebels. If we have someone that can sneak around and be our eyes and ears without giving themselves away, then that’s one of the best things we can have. Besides, considering Miller and Murphy thought about it when they first met you, it means it’s plausible. And that’s the most important thing about a cover story.”

“But I’m supposed to be a _prostitute?_ ” 

“Well, technically, just one of Bellamy Blake’s infamous conquests that he has a particular affinity for,” Wick chimed in from the doorway. Emori shot him a _not helping_ look, and he held up his hands in surrender before excusing himself to the kitchen, mumbling an excuse about cleaning the leftovers out of the fridge so he didn’t accidentally get killed in the midst of the Rage That Was Clarke Griffin.

“You’ll still have weapons on you, Clarke,” Emori reasoned. “You’ll still be armed in case something goes wrong. It’s just that for now, you’d be a bigger help by playing dumb about what Bellamy actually does in his spare time.”

“But all I’ll actually be doing is sitting at the bar and giggling while Bellamy looks at me like a piece of meat.”

“If it helps, you look like a classy prostitute,” Monroe shrugged. “Not like, the trashy ones that vomit all over the place.”

“Bell said you’re a good actor,” Emori said, her tone pleading a little. They needed Clarke to do this, but they couldn’t exactly force her to if she didn’t want to. 

Clarke tensed up for a minute like she was going to argue further before she seemed to just deflate. “Yeah, alright,” she sighed, and ran a hand through her hair. “I’ll do it. When does this start?”

Bellamy seemed to appear, as if from nowhere. “Oh good,” he grinned, holding up a dress that Clarke could already tell was going to be too short and too low-cut for her liking. “I was afraid you’d say no.”

“There’s still time,” she grumbled, crossing her arms and looking at the slinky piece of fabric murderously.

“We start now.”

~

“Bellamy, I might as well be naked.” The angry hiss in Clarke’s voice didn’t match the coy smile on her face as she invited herself to sit on the bar stool next to her boss. Raven had done her hair in loose curls, and Emori had done her makeup. It felt like she was back in high school again, not a part of an organization of criminals. It seemed like all of the girls had been looking for an excuse to dress someone up, and it turned out that Clarke gave them the perfect excuse to. Well, all of the girls except one. Monroe had sat on the bathroom sink and watched, arms crossed, gun in hand, and a look on her face that Clarke could tell meant she found the entire hair/makeup ordeal to be more amusing than it was functional. And when the time came for Clarke to put on the outfit Bellamy had presented her with, Monroe burst into laughter and had to leave. Now, out in public, Clarke agreed. It was hilarious that she was expected to do anything productive in this wardrobe. With every movement, the hem of her dress rode up a little, and with every second, she loathed her job more and more.

“Murphy proposed the idea. Emori shot it down on the grounds that it would draw too much attention.” Clarke couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, and she didn’t have time to ponder it any further as he reached over to place a hand on her thigh and lean in close to her ear. “Just remember the plan,” he whispered in a husky tone. As much as she hated to admit it, that voice, combined with his possessive hand on her leg, was enough to make her breath catch.

“The Plan,” as Bellamy had called it, had been laid out for her in the car on the ride over. They had taken Wick’s Buick rather than the Suburban in an attempt to be a little more discreet. If any rivals saw the familiar black car that usually toted around multiple members of the ring, it was more than likely that they would either clear out of the bar or cause a scene, and neither of those situations were ideal. The goal was for everyone else to get eyes on Clarke. To see her, to see what her relationship was with the head of The Rebels, to gauge that she was not a threat, and therefore, not someone to worry about.

The setup for the night was simple enough. Clarke would go in first, mingle with the other people and sell herself as a ditz. She hated that part as much as the role she had been given to play, but she understood why, so she didn’t argue. Bellamy would show up about half an hour later and flirt with everyone in sight. He had already managed to earn himself a reputation as a player, so that portion wouldn’t be unbelievable for anyone who knew anything about him. Eventually, Clarke and Bellamy would meet up at the bar, where everyone could see just how “into her” he really was. After a couple hours, and copious amounts of alcohol and blatant flirting, they would leave. The common consensus among the rest of the bar’s occupants would be that they were headed somewhere more…private.

Clarke had to admit, it wasn’t the worst she’d heard, as far as plans went. And she wasn’t going to _complain_ that she was going to be seen around someone as attractive as Bellamy Blake. The problem was just that, well, this wasn’t what she had thought she was signing on for. Not that she didn’t like the idea that she was essentially a spy for the team, because that was actually great. She had been all about spy movies and James Bond and undercover badasses since she had been a kid. For a good portion of her life, she had _wanted_ to be a spy. This was how she wanted to live her life, not as a doctor in some stuffy hospital with sick kids and dying patients. The thing that was holding her back from loving this portion of her job was really just the wardrobe. 

In a skin-tight dress and six inch heels, there wasn’t a whole lot of room to hide a gun.

Clarke twirled her hair and giggled, pushing Bellamy away with a playful hand to his chest. “I _know_ the plan. Just shut up and buy me something strong,” she hissed through her teeth.

“Planning on letting me get you drunk enough to sleep with me?” he teased before calling over the bartender and putting in an order.

“Nope. Just drunk enough until my vision is bad enough that I can’t see your stupid, smug face.”

“Fair enough.”

They talked for a few hours, huddled close together over a secluded table that was still in a decent line of sight. They put on a good show, Clarke knew, with all the hair flipping and little touches, looking for all the world like a couple ready to jump each other. At one point, Bellamy even pressed sloppy kisses behind her ear and down her neck, even though he’d only had one drink to Clarke’s three, and he should be perfectly capable of not acting like a drunken fool. The only sign of discomfort that Clarke portrayed was her fingers tightening around her glass, and Bellamy understood that he had taken it too far, even for the sake of a cover, and he bought her another drink in apology. He didn’t try anything nearly as intimate for the rest of the night.

Eventually, their conversation drifted towards what the long-term plan.

“What even is the goal of all of...” Clarke waved her hands around vaguely. “This?”

“Gotta make a living somehow,” Bellamy shrugged, sipping his beer.

“I get that,” she snorted. “I just mean, what’s the reason? There’s got to be a reason.”

“Maybe I just wanted to live outside the law.” Clarke knew he was avoiding the question, but he was smiling and teasing, and she was starting to think that maybe his smile wasn’t the worse thing in the world. It was wide and genuine, and it made his eyes crinkle in a way that made her stomach do something strange. The corners of his mouth tended to curl upwards just the slightest bit when he was with her, she had noticed, and she was drunk enough to wonder what his lips would feel like against hers.

“Mhmm.” She raised an eyebrow in question but didn’t push it any further. “Who here anyways was supposed to see me?” she asked, turning back to the business at hand. 

“Anyone really. Mainly anyone from The Grounders. They’re known to hang around in this part of town.” At Clarke’s confused look, Bellamy elaborated. “We don’t have a lot of rivals per se, besides the cops, but since we’re based in the same area, we’ve had our fair share of nasty run-ins with The Grounders.”

A moment of silence. Clarke licked her lips. Bellamy took a long drink.

“Is that how Maya died?” A single, curt nod. “I’m sorry, Bellamy.”

He shrugged it off gruffly. “The leader, Lexa, she’s ruthless. Won’t even let her people leave her organization. If they want out, the only option is a bullet to the brain. She found out what would hurt us the most, leave us the most vulnerable, and she took it out. We were so convinced it was going to be Reyes or Monroe. Raven’s the smartest we’ve got, and Monroe has taken out more of her people without even being in the same _room_ as them, than the rest of us have combined. So when we got a tip that The Grounders were on the move, we relocated our girls to a safe place, and the rest of us went to intercept Lexa’s team. We had expected two or three people at most, with the just the mission to take out Raven or Monroe, easy enough for us to overpower. But everyone was there. Twenty guns aimed at our chests. We had been set up.” 

Bellamy set his bottle down a little harder than necessary with a shake of his head and a dry, self-depreciating laugh. “I never considered for even a second that it could have been Maya. But in reality, she should have been the first target to come to mind. Maya was the reason Lexa’s girlfriend, Costia, got arrested. She’s the reason Costia got the death sentence. We couldn’t do anything when Lexa shot Maya right in front of us, said she was weakening us and getting her revenge all in one. Jasper hasn’t been the same since then. He’ll be so out of it for _days_ , and then out of nowhere, for short periods of time, he’ll decide he can’t rest until he finds Lexa and kills her. It’s…It’s bad, Clarke.”

Clarke nodded solemnly in understanding. “It’s not your fault though, you know.”

“It is. I didn’t see it coming, and I should have. Her blood is on _my_ hands. And even if it wasn’t my fault, placing the blame on someone else isn’t going to bring her back.”

“Bellamy…”

“I need another drink,” he said, standing abruptly and heading back to the bar counter. Clarke sighed and ran her hands over her face. It was the first time she had been told the story about Maya. It had seemed kind of taboo in the house, and every time she thought to mention it, Jasper was around. She had gotten the idea that it was tragic, but she hadn’t known that Bellamy felt that he carried the responsibility on his shoulders alone. It was awful to think about that kind of guilt, so she tried to drown out her own thoughts by listening to the chatter around her.

“Hello, beautiful,” she heard a sly voice say, a few feet away. “Could I buy you a drink?”

There was a scoff from a woman in the same direction. “You mean can you buy me something and drug it? No thanks, not interested.”

“C’mon, you think I’d do that to a pretty girl like you?” Clarke lifted her head and shifted in her seat, sensing trouble was about to ensue. 

“I told you I’m not interested.”

The man curled his lip and growled, “You little—“

“Hey, asshole!” Clarke snapped, striding over to him, ankles wobbling a little in her shoes. He was a gross looking little man. Not someone who would be hard to take down. If she was sober, she might have remembered the fact that she was here to _not_ draw attention to herself. If she got mixed up with the wrong people, she could blow it. “She said no. Leave her alone.” 

He turned on Clarke, raising an eyebrow. “And you’re going to make me?” He looked her up and down, taking in her outfit and her height. “Maybe you want to come back to mine instead of her? A little thing like you—“

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Shut up.” She cut him off with a hard punch to the throat. He stumbled backwards clutching at his windpipe as Clarke grinned and advanced towards him again. This was the point where, if she had had sleeves, she would be rolling them up. She would never back down from a fight, especially not one she was guaranteed to win. Before she had time to throw another punch, strong arms wrapped around her waist and picked her up off the floor. “Get _off’a_ me,” she slurred angrily. “He had it coming to ‘im.”

“It’s time to go, Princess,” a low voice hissed in her ear as she was hauled to the door. She stopped fighting instantly, a feeling of dread settling over her.

“Bellamy,” she squeaked. He didn’t bother to answer her or put her down until they reached the car. She was partly grateful for it, because she wasn’t sure if she could deal with a lecture and walking at the same time. He didn’t even look at her on the drive back to Raven’s, and she felt worse and worse as each minute passed.

“Bellamy, I’m sorry,” she tried, once they were inside. There was no point in waking Raven, and Clarke was too tired and woozy to brave the stairs, so the two had settled on the couch in the dark.

“If anyone _saw_ you, acting like that—“

“Did they? Did anyone important see it?”

“Lucky for you, they had just gone out to smoke,” he snapped. 

“I wasn’t thinking. That guy, he was being awful to that girl. He was trying to take advantage of her. You wouldn’t have let him if you were there and not drinking.”

“What _I_ would have done,” he hissed, “was think about everyone I was potentially putting in danger by getting in a fist fight in a place where the enemy could have seen.”

Clarke didn’t have a response for that. She hadn’t thought about it that way. By showing herself to The Grounders, that knocked out the one person that the rest of the team could use as an inside man. It meant that she wouldn’t be able to come across important information, and her friends could die. Murphy, Raven, Emori, Wick…Bellamy. All of them. “I’m sorry,” she choked out once more. “I—I was just trying to do the right thing and I…”

Bellamy sighed and ran a hand down his face before draping his arm over the back of the sofa, brushing her shoulder with his thumb. “I know you were. You’re drunk, and I’d have been the same way. I can’t blame you for it.”

“I guess I forgot to mention that I look for fights when I get drunk, she said in a small voice.

“You and me both.”

There was a long stretch when neither of them said anything, until Bellamy sighed.

“You wanted to know why.”

“Why what?” she asked, caught completely off-guard. 

“Why I do all of—“ He paused to wave his hands in a mimic of the motion she had done earlier. “This.” She nodded. “It’s for my sister. I’ve been taking care of her since I was a kid. My mom died when we were young, and Octavia became my whole world. I dropped out of school and picked up extra jobs so I could pay for her food and clothes and books. I promised I’d never let anything happen to her, and even now that she’s older, and getting through college, I still can’t let her try to pay for it on her own.” 

“Does she know about it?” Clarke asked softly.

To her surprise, a single tear rolled down Bellamy’s cheek. “No,” he whispered. “I’ve been lying to her. She thinks I’m working a couple jobs, and that’s why I’m gone all the time, and that’s where all the money is coming from. I have to do it, Clarke. I can’t just let her—starve or not go to school just because I never amounted to anything.” He was pleading with her, like he had to try to justify himself, had to try to make her understand. But he didn’t need to. She understood it just fine.

“Don’t say that.”

“But it’s—“

“ _Bellamy,_ stop it. Everyone has their reasons for doing this, some better than others. Yours is as good as any, and it’s a hell of a lot less selfish. You’re doing it for the right reasons. You’re being a good brother.”

“I’m trying.” He paused. “What’s your reason?”

Clarke scoffed. “It’s one of the more petty ones. I did it to piss off my mom.”

He snorted a little and let his eyes slide closed sleepily. “That’s cute, actually.” Maybe he was a little more drunk than Clarke had originally thought.

After a while—a few minutes or a few hours, it was hard to tell—Clarke’s stomach rolled. “Bellamy?”

“Hm?”

“Can you get me a trash can?” 

That was all it took for him to shoot up off the couch and rush back with a wastebasket in hand. Just in time too, because the contents of her stomach rioted and she bent over, retching into it while Bellamy rubbed circles on her back. 

“So much for being a classy prostitute,” she grumbled, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. 

“A what?”

“Don’t ask,” she sighed, laying back on the couch. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine.”

Bellamy hesitated for a second. “You’re sure?”

“Go home, Bell. Octavia is probably worried about you.” 

He accepted it with a nod. “Yeah, alright.” Carefully, like he was afraid she might spook, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her hair. “Goodnight, Clarke.


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. Thanks for sticking with me. I hope you enjoy. Hopefully the next part will be out soon.

Bellamy walked into Raven’s house—well, technically now Clarke’s and Raven’s house, because it’s been months, and Clarke had showed no intention of leaving anytime soon—without knocking. No one ever bothered to announce their arrival anymore. At some point in their activities, the group had just collectively decided to do away with the formality, and now the house was a constant stream of people, coming and going as they wished. He had given up trying to decide what the neighbors thought was going on. As long as they weren’t suspicious, then they could let their little imaginations run wild.

 

The first thing he heard when he made it past the main hallway, was the princess herself, having a very heated conversation over the phone. That in itself wasn’t unusual—Clarke never liked calls, and the only people who called her had the tendency to rile her up in the first place—the difference this time though, was that he distinctly heard her groan an exasperated _“Mom, please.”_ Abby Griffin never called, and Clarke _never_ talked about her mother, not since the night she had admitted she had joined the Rebels because it would piss her off. From where he stood outside the kitchen, hesitating (eavesdropping, if he was going to be honest), he could only hear one side, and it didn’t seem to be going well.

 

“No, Mom, I _told_ you, I’m fine.”

 

“You’ve already told me that a million times. Yes, Mom, I know I’ve ruined my life. Thank you. Thank you for reminding me.” 

 

“No, I’m not still living there. I paid up the last month’s rent and moved out.”

 

“ _Why?_ Well maybe because you stopped helping me pay for it. Just because I dropped out of school, doesn’t mean that I’ve had time to find a full time job yet. You know I couldn’t afford that apartment on my own.”  
There was a long pause, where Bellamy assumed that Abby was going off on her daughter on the other end of the line. When Clarke spoke again, her words sounded funny, stilted and uneven. “I’m living with my boyfriend.” Of course, she couldn’t tell her that she was actually living in the safehouse for a crime ring. “You want to meet him? Mom, he’s busy, he works six days a—“ With a sigh, Bellamy can hear her give in. “Yeah, alright, fine. Lunch tomorrow. Great. Mhmm, bye.”

 

He had just stepped into the kitchen in time to see Clarke with his back to him, taking a deep breath as if trying to compose herself, before she gave up and crumpled the can of beer in her hand with a long string of impressive curse words.

 

“Language, princess,” Bellamy clucked in mock disappointment as the blonde whirled around with a scowl on her face.

 

“You were listening to my conversation,” she said accusingly.

 

“Well, to be fair, you are pretty loud.” Clarke’s glare only intensified. His tone was softer when he continued. “Family trouble?”

 

Clarke snorted. “Considering I agreed to bring my boyfriend to lunch with my mother tomorrow, yeah, I’d say that’s trouble.”

 

“Worried your mom might scare him away?”

 

“Oh no, that’s not the problem at all.” Bellamy frowned. “The problem is that I don’t even have a boyfriend.” 

 

He raised an eyebrow. “You could have told her you were living with your girlfriend,” he pointed out. “Raven could probably be decent fake girlfriend material. And maybe your mom wouldn’t go too hard on her because of the brace.”

 

“Well it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” Clarke snapped back. “Besides. The Great Abby Griffin would probably try to convince her there was a surgery she could do to make her leg fully functional again, when we all know there isn’t.”

 

“You could always take Murphy or Wick.”

 

“Wick is working on a project for Emori, and as amusing as it would be to have lunch with Murphy and my mother, the restaurant might end up in flames.”

 

“Miller could play straight for an afternoon.” 

 

Clarke shook her head in response to the suggestion. “My mom thinks I’m working on art, not being a criminal, and I doubt Miller could lie to that woman to save his life.”

 

“Then what are you going to do?”

 

Her eyes lit up mischievously, and a grin spread across her face. 

 

“I was thinking more along the lines of you.”

 

\----

 

Having lunch with the world-renowned surgeon, Abigail Griffin was not at the top of Bellamy’s bucket list. At all. His bucket list had stuff like ‘Put Octavia through college,’ and ‘Survive a jump out of a burning building,’ and ‘Get a scar in the exact shape of a star on his shoulder.’ Sharing a meal at a restaurant he couldn’t afford with his not-girlfriend and her mother while pretending to be the said not-girlfriend’s boyfriend wasn’t exciting or dangerous or practical like anything on his list. It was just miserable. 

 

_And necessary,_ he reminded himself as he and Clarke walked up to the hostess, his hand on the small of her back. _If Clarke’s mother finds out what she’s actually doing or where she’s actually staying, then the entire group is screwed,_ he reasoned. It totally wasn’t because he liked Clarke as a person. Not at all.

 

Clarke looked great—as always. She had pulled some red number out of Raven’s closet and left her hair in loose curls. Bellamy had just dressed up a little more than usual, since Clarke said he absolutely was not allowed to wear khakis to lunch. He had grumbled about it, but managed to find a pair of dress pants, a burgundy shirt, and a black tie. He had attempted to do something about his wild curls, but in the end, his hair did what it wanted. The two were led to their table, and they sat in silence, sipping at their waters for a few moments before Clarke received a text. “Mom says she hit traffic. She’ll be here in a little bit. And she says she looks forward to meeting you, but I can assure you, it’s not sincere, so don’t get your hopes up.”

 

“I had no delusions of grandeur walking into this,” Bellamy reassured her, tugging at his collar. Something about the place felt off to him, and he couldn’t figure out why, but it was enough to put him on edge. Just as he had looked down at the menus, he figured it out, and instantly, his pupils blew wide. “Clarke, we need to go,” he insisted, already half out of his seat. “We can’t stay, my—“

 

“Bellamy, what the hell?” Clarke asked, reaching out to grab his wrist.

 

“We have to—“

 

At that moment, Abby Griffin made her entrance, and Clarke was on her feet, hugging her mother and sending Bellamy a side-eyed glare that forced him to reluctantly straighten up and hold out his hand to Abby, his stomach churning.  
“Ms. Griffin,” he greeted through a smile. “I’m Bellamy Blake. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

She returned the smile and the handshake politely. “Please, call me Abby, dear.” Bellamy nodded and pulled out a chair for the older Griffin woman before doing the same for Clarke and then taking a seat himself. He could hardly keep his leg from shaking anxiously, and now that he knew why the name of the restaurant was familiar, it didn’t help his nerves in the slightest.

 

Clarke raised an eyebrow at him quizzically and placed a hand on his knee. “Easy,” she murmured under her breath. He felt bad about his little outburst—it wasn’t fair to Clarke—but he really, _really_ wished that they could have had lunch anywhere but here. 

 

“So,” Abby began as a waiter came and filled their glasses with water. “I was a bit surprised to hear that Clarke had a boyfriend, Bellamy. She hasn’t mentioned you before.”

 

“To be fair, Mom, I don’t tell you a lot of things,” Clarke chimed in. The look she got in response was dry and unamused, but Abby continued.

 

“How long have you two been together? And how long has she been living with you?”

 

“About seven months,” Bellamy lied. “We’ve been living together for four.”

 

“Don’t you think you’re moving a little fast?” she pressed.

 

_Do I think we’re moving fast? Oh, well, I don’t know, I’ve known her for four months, we frequently break the law, and as of yesterday, I’m now her fake boyfriend._ Clarke saved him from answering that question though. “I needed a place to stay, and he had room.”

 

Before Abby could say anything, the three were interrupted by a waitress coming over to their table. “Hi everyone, my name is—Bellamy? What are you doing here?” she asked in surprise. 

 

Bellamy nearly dropped his water glass. Of course, it was just his luck. The one person he didn’t want to see here had to be their server. “Hey, O,” he winced. Clarke’s eyes widened in understanding, and before he could butcher the situation, she reached out her hand to take his sister’s,

 

“Hi!” she said cheerfully, once again putting on an act like she had for the cop in the back alley at the bar. “You must be Octavia. Bellamy’s told me so much about you. I’m Clarke, his girlfriend. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” 

 

“Girlfriend? Bellamy! You didn’t tell me!”

 

“We can talk about it later O, alright?” he hissed through his teeth. They didn’t need to do this right now.

 

“Oh, we will,” she promised. She straightened herself up quickly and smiled widely. “Alright, sorry about that. Again, I’m Octavia, and I’ll be your server today. Can I start you all off with something to drink?”

 

Bellamy and the Griffin women placed their orders and made idle chit chat as they waited for their food to come. “So, Bellamy,” Abby began, “What is it that you do for a living?”  
He was glad that he and Clarke had prepared for this kind of question on the car ride over. The goal was to make her mother feel reassured that Clarke was in good hands, while simultaneously not making Bellamy likable enough that she would invite the couple over for Christmas dinner. They were walking a fine line.

 

“I’m working as a veterinary assistant down town, and sometimes, I’ll grade papers for the local college just to make some money on the side,” he lied easily. Abby seemed to be satisfied with the answer, because after Octavia dropped off the food, she didn’t push the matter any further.

 

“Your sister seems like a very nice young woman,” Mrs. Griffin remarked, picking at her chicken when it arrived.

 

Bellamy nodded quickly, setting his fork aside. He had only ordered a salad because even though Clarke assured him that he wouldn’t need to pay, he still felt guilty about taking charity. He could talk about Octavia all day. It took the attention off of himself, and he was never worried about saying the wrong thing. “Yeah, O is great. We’re working on getting her through college right now. She wants to be a marine biologist.” 

 

“You didn’t tell me that,” Clarke said in surprise, smacking his arm lightly. Her face though, said, _you didn’t tell me your sister worked here, you bastard. If she screws this up and Mom sends me back to med school I will never ever forgive you. You’re lucky I’m not actually your girlfriend because if I were, you would be dead right now._

 

Yeah, he got that much from a single look.

 

“Your parents must be very proud.”

 

“I, ah—“ Bellamy started.

 

“Mom!” Clarke hissed. “I told you not to bring up—“

 

“No, no, it’s alright.” Bellamy took her hand in his under the table and squeezed it once to reassure her. “My parents are actually dead. Octavia’s dad left me and my sister pretty soon after our mom died. I’ve practically raised her ever since.” 

 

“That’s very admirable of you,” she said sincerely. From there, the conversation turned to safer, less volatile topics, and Bellamy could almost imagine that this was all for real and that Abby liked him and that he and Clarke would be going home and sharing a bed and living a life entirely different than the one they had. That was, until Clarke decided to excuse herself to the restroom and leave Bellamy alone with her mother. Instantly, he shot her a pleading look, but all she said was, “I’ll only be a minute.”

 

As soon as she had walked away, Abby was in full protective mother mode. “Did Clarke leave medical school to pursue art because of you?” she demanded as soon as her daughter was out of earshot.

 

“Did she—what?” Bellamy stammered, taken aback by the sudden change. “No. She left school before we even met.”

 

“Because Clarke can’t be distracted from her future by a boy, you know.”

 

“Yes, m’am, I know. I—“

 

“She’s always liked art, but it was only a hobby, not a career. She can’t make a—“

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I only want what’s best for Clarke. If she wants to do art, and if that makes her happy, then that is what is best for her, and I will support her in whatever she wants to do. And quite frankly, I think her mother of all people should be supporting her as well.” Bellamy knew it was a bold move, but he couldn’t let Abby continue on like this, not when Clarke hated med school from the start, not when she really did like art, even if it wasn’t currently her main source of income.

 

Abby narrowed her eyes at Bellamy, half ready to snap back a retort, but held back when Clarke showed up to take her seat again. She seemed to notice the tension at the table because with a fake perkiness to her tone, she asked, “Did I miss anything exciting while I was gone?”

 

“Bellamy certainly has your best interests at heart,” her mother said through gritted teeth as she picked up the check. Clarke shot Bellamy a questioning look and just nodded uneasily. 

 

“He does, Mom. We’re happy,” she said, entwining her fingers with his on top of the table. He was surprised and pleased to find how natural the action was.

 

Abby let out a noise that could almost be described as a snort, but she didn’t push the matter any further. After they had said their goodbyes, and Bellamy and Clarke were safely around the corner of the restaurant, out of sight of the older Griffin woman, Bellamy let out a breath that he hadn’t known he was holding. “You think we convinced her?” he asked, glancing down at the blonde.

 

Clarke was grinning. “Of course we did. You’re the perfect boyfriend, she’d be insane not to believe it.”

 

“She didn’t seem to like me.”

 

“She doesn’t have to like you,” she shrugged. “But if it makes you feel better, she was only hard on you because she knows you support me not being in med school. If she really didn’t like you, you’d know it.” Bellamy raised an eyebrow, prompting her to explain. “She paid for my last girlfriend to move back home to her family in England.”

 

“And I didn’t get paid off, so she likes me?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

By the time they reached the car, Bellamy opened his phone to no less than eight texts from Octavia. 

 

_**Sent at 2:32 p.m.** _

_You DICK._

_**Sent at 2:34 p.m.** _

_You didn’t tell me about your GIRLFRIEND?!?!?!_

_**Sent at 2:35p.m.** _

_The first one you’ve had in YEARS???_

_**Sent at 2:40 p.m.** _ ****

_Good choice though. She’s cute._

_**Sent at 2:43p.m.** _

_Didn’t think blondes were your type._

_**Sent at 2:50 p.m.** _

_Also, was that Abby Griffin? Like the surgeon Abby Griffin? I’ve read her articles in medical journals. She’s badass._

_**Sent at 2:51 p.m.** _

_Did you know she did a surgery in the middle of nowhere to release the pressure in a guy’s head with a POWER drill once?_

_**Sent at 3:01 p.m.** _

_I want to have lunch with you and your rich girlfriend. Tomorrow._

 

“Clarke,” Bellamy said hesitantly, looking up from his phone. “O wants to have lunch. I can tell her no, but she’s just going to keep pushing it.”

 

From the passenger seat, Clarke shrugged. “Say yes then.”

 

“You’re sure? She’s probably going to question you. Extensively.”

 

“You mean like my mother did to you? Yeah, I think it’s my turn to take the beating from a family member.”

 

“Really?” he asked, feeling a little hopeful for some unexplainable reason.

 

“We can’t blow this cover, Bellamy. If your sister thinks I’m your girlfriend, I can play your girlfriend for another lunch thing.”

 

His hope burst like a bubble. _Right. The cover._ “Tomorrow good?”

 

“Yep. And let’s go somewhere that I can wear jeans, please? I don’t really enjoy walking around in six-inch death traps for my feet.”

 

“Deal.”

 

\--- 

 

“Raven!” Clarke called up the stairs, the next day. “Bellamy and I are going out!”

 

Raven poked her head out of her room and furrowed her eyebrows. “New target? No one mentioned anything to me. I had a new camera system I wanted to try out.”

 

Clarke shook her head. “Lunch with Octavia. We ran into her yesterday during our little charade with my mom. Now she wants to officially meet me.”

 

“You’re meeting his sister? That’s further than any of the rest of us have gotten. And he’s known us for years.”

 

“It’s a consistency thing, Raven.”

 

“Sounds more like Blake’s got a _thing_ for you.”

 

“Jesus. Are you in fifth grade? Just go play with your bomb. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

 

“Is that official permission from my higher ups to build a bomb?”

 

“I’m not your ‘higher-up.’”

 

“If you’re dating the boss, technically you’re also in charge,” she said, waggling her eyebrows.

 

“Goodbye, Raven,” Clarke sighed, going to meet Bellamy at the car.

 

Surprisingly, Operation Meet-the-Sister went smoothly. No hiccups in Clarke and Bellamy’s stories, Octavia didn’t seem suspicious, and no death threats were made by any party involved. All in all, it was good. O seemed to like Clarke, and didn’t ask any questions that were too hard-hitting. She was just curious about the possibility of getting a tattoo designed—something Bellamy shot down immediately. When he wasn’t looking though, Clarke gave his sister a wink and put her number into her phone so they could discuss it later

 

It was all going great until Bellamy got a call from Emori. 

 

“Little busy right now, Emori,” he said as cheerfully as he could.

 

“Yeah? Well, get un-busy.”

 

“Is this really that important? I’m with my sister.” 

 

“Cut it short. You and Clarke need to get back here, now.”

 

“Emori—“

 

“This concerns Octavia, alright?” she snapped. “If we don’t get this figured out, she’s in danger.”

 

Clarke watched in confusion as Bellamy’s face went white. “Emori, please don’t tell me…”

 

“Bellamy, I’m sorry. It’s Lexa.”


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, just wanted to get something out.

“How did this happen!?” Bellamy demanded the second he walked into the basement. Everyone was there, gathered around Emori’s set of computers.

“I missed it, okay? I’ve been working overtime trying to figure out how to work all of this shit! The software that was installed has taken me forever to understand! I’ve always had Maya and Jasper to help me with it, but in case you hadn’t noticed, Jordan’s a little preoccupied drowning in self-pity!” Emori snapped, frantically typing for a moment before running her hands through her hair in exasperation. Her usual calm demeanor was gone, and that in itself was unnerving to the entire group.

“You’re supposed to be _good_ at this!”

“I am, but it’s Maya’s stuff!”

“How do you miss something like this!?” Bellamy shouted again.

“Quit yelling at her!” Murphy stepped in. “Maya is _dead!_ That’s how, you asshole!”

“You’ve got the _nerve_ to blame this on me, Murphy? It’s on all of us!” he snarled, squaring up and ready for a fight.

“I never said it was your fault,” Murphy protested, preparing himself to take a few swings all the same. “I’m just saying that you can’t expect Emori to learn this all instantly.”

Just as Bellamy was ready to explode, Clarke weaseled her way in between the two and shoved them apart. “Real sorry to break this up, but is anyone going to tell me what this is about?”

Monroe sighed and ran a hand down her face. “The Grounders. Anya managed to obtain a file of soft targets. The thing was encoded like hell. Even if Anya or any of the rest of her computer nerds figured out how to break through it, it would take them weeks to decode all of it.”

“Soft targets?” Clarke questioned, not liking where this was going.

“Easy people to threaten or hurt in order to manipulate someone in a position of power into doing something,” Wick explained. “People like friends, significant others, family members. Someone unprotected or vulnerable. You get the idea.”

The weight in Clarke’s stomach grew heavier. It made more sense now as to why Bellamy was so upset. “Oh…That’s horrible. How-How did it happen?”

Emori just shook her head. “That’s the problem. I’ve got no idea. Maya’s firewall was impenetrable. I’ve been in the down here all day with these computers, and no one else has been in the house besides us. All of the sudden, they shut down on me. I figured it was just an automatic system reboot, wasn’t too worried, but then when I went back in to look at the files, we were missing the one that had all of our personal information on it. They must’ve had someone who could remotely hack into our database.”

"I'd bet anything it was Anya," Raven muttered.

“So what do we do now?” Miller asked, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another.

Monroe shrugged helplessly. “There’s nothing we can do but wait right now. They have the upper hand, so it’s up to Lexa what she wants to do with that file. I can’t honestly say that I know if she’ll just hold it over our heads or if she’ll actually use it to get whatever she wants from us.”

“We can’t just wait it out, Monroe,” Bellamy protested, causing everyone to jump. After the near-tussle with Murphy, he had gone silent enough that he blended into the background. “Octavia’s name is in that file. My _sister._ If she gets hurt—“

“People get hurt, Bellamy. People _die_. Maybe it’s time you stop thinking the world revolves around you, and realize that others have actually lost people,” a voice from the corner growled, and everyone turned to see Jasper, his fists clenched by his sides. 

That jibe was all the provoking that Bellamy needed to lunge at Jasper, throwing punches as he tackled him to the ground. It took Miller and Murphy both to pull their leader off of him and drag him up the stairs. Clarke followed close on their heels and slammed the basement door shut behind them as soon as they reached the main floor. Bellamy was still shouting and fighting the two men, and finally, Clarke went over—disregarding the fact that he could probably crush her if he was angry enough at Jasper to plow straight through her—and grabbed his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

“Go home, Bellamy,” she enunciated very clearly. “Go see Octavia, make sure she’s safe. Just cool down for a few days, and don’t come back until you’ve got your emotions under control. You aren’t helping anyone by being a hothead and picking fights. By the time you see us again, we’ll have some kind of plan.” Clarke turned to Miller. “Take him out to his car, would you? Murphy, you come with me. We can check on Jasper and start figuring something out.”

Back in the basement, Wick had Jasper propped up in a sitting position against the couch while Monroe wiped blood off of his face, trying to assess the damage. Clarke didn’t bother to ask if he was alright. She knew he’d be sore for a while, and frankly, he knew better than to mess with Bellamy when Octavia was involved. He didn’t get to check out for a few months and then only speak up when it was to start a fight. It wasn’t fair, and it was nowhere near the realm of helpful.

Clarke stood next to Emori and braced her hands on the desk, watching as she tried fruitlessly to punch in the right combination of numbers and letters, as if it would somehow magically reclaim their missing file and fix the hole in their security. “I’ve got a friend from high school,” Clarke said slowly after a moment. “He was pretty good at this kind of thing, better than anyone I’d ever met.” She was carefully throwing the idea out to the group, trying to warm them up and gauge their reactions.

Raven picked up on it instantly. “And you want us to just let him in here? Give him access to our files and information? Anything on those computers could get us all arrested. And that’s a best-case scenario, Clarke.”

“I didn’t say we had to!” Clarke protested. “I’m just saying it’s an option. I trust him.”

“If he does one thing wrong, we’re screwed,” Miller said hesitantly, having just come back down to the basement after sending Bellamy away.

“I’m _aware,_ ” she huffed in annoyance. “I just thought that since we’re grasping at straws here, maybe we should consider some other—“

“I vote yes,” Emori cut in. Everyone looked at her in surprise. “I don’t know how to fix this,” she admitted. “I can look through Maya’s stuff all I want, but I still won’t be able to find where the security breach was or what caused it. If Clarke’s got a friend who’s good, I say we ask him.”

“And if he gets in and decides he wants out, wants to tell the authorities, we can always hold him hostage,” Monroe shrugged, and there were a few murmurs of agreement from around the room.

“Guys!” Clarke reprimanded.

“It’s the business, Princess,” Raven pointed out.

Before Clarke could argue, Wick spoke up. “Okay, hypothetically, say we all agree to let this guy in, what about Bellamy? Are we telling him, or just springing it on him? He’s in charge, and he’d also probably kill us if he didn’t make the final decision.”

“Bellamy doesn’t get a say right now,” Clarke said, a finality in her voice that didn’t leave room to fight. “He can’t control himself enough to be in the same room as us, and Emori said she needs the help. If the majority of you are for it, then I’ll make the call.”

In the end, Clarke calls Monty Greene. Emori, Murphy, Wick, and Miller all thought it was worth a try. Raven was too stubborn to say yes, and Monroe was her usual cautious self, unwilling to trust someone that only one person in the ring knew. Jasper didn’t vote—he had just gone back to sulking, now with an ice pack held to his lip.

The next day, Clarke and Emori went to pick Monty up from the airport, and on the way back, they filled him in on what had happened and what they hoped he could do.

“From what you told me, it sounds like it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out how Anya got in,” he said as he entered the house. “I should be able to update your security too. I’ve been working on a new system that’s proven to be foolproof so far. I mean, it’s safe enough that the government contacted me about letting them use it, so I feel like that’s a good indicator.” Emori shot Clarke a surprised look, and the blonde only shrugged. She had told them all that Monty was good, it was their fault that they hadn’t all believed her at first.

When Monty saw the plethora of computers and equipment in the basement, his eyes lit up the same way Monroe’s would when she got a new gun—like a kid at Christmas. “You’re joking, right?” he asked, half laughing, inviting himself to take a seat. “This stuff is incredible. Half of it shouldn’t even be in existence, much less in some random basement. This Maya chick was…hell, she must’ve been something else to get her hands on this.”

“She was,” Jasper piped up from his usual position in the shadows.

Monty looked over, vaguely surprised. “Cool,” he remarked. “It even comes with its own surly ex-boyfriend.” Jasper scowled at that and curled in on himself again.

“That’s new,” Emori said softly, raising her eyebrows. “That’s the first time he hasn’t tried to start a fight in a while.”

Monty was too busy tapping away at the keyboard to respond, and after a few moments, was successful. “Found it,” he chirped. 

“What?” Clarke asked.

“The breach. I found where they got in.”

“No way,” Emori said in disbelief, leaning forward to look at the screen. “I’ve been trying to figure this out for _three days_ , and you do it in three minutes?”

Monty shrugged. “This is why you brought me in, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but you probably weren’t going to school to figure out how to work computers for a crime ring.”

“Oh no, no, of course not,” he said, shaking his head quickly. “But breaking the law and playing with this kind of tech is way more fun. I was just gonna design video games.” Emori scoffed and slapped him on the back. 

“Kid, your talents are being wasted. Welcome to the team.”


	6. Part 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I last posted a chapter. I really wanted to get something out though, so this chapter isn't proofread or anything, but I hope you enjoy it anyways!

When Bellamy finally came back to the safehouse after a couple days, it took a moment for him to realize what was wrong. Monty had taken up residence in the house for a few days, just until he could find his own place. He didn’t plan on becoming a permanent resident like Clarke had. He decided that as much as he enjoyed Raven and Clarke’s company, living with the girls full time would be a little…much for him. However, his stuff was still strewn around the place, and ultimately, that was what tipped Bellamy off. He went to hang his jacket where he usually did, the hook that basically had his name written on it, but froze with his coat just above it, realizing that the space had been taken. Dropping his coat on the ground, he rushed to the living room.

“Clarke? Raven!?” he called, becoming increasingly more concerned as he made his way through the house. “Who the hell is here? They’ve got their shit on _my_ hook!” He burst into the kitchen and froze in his tracks when he found Wick making himself a sandwich while Miller sat at the counter…flirting? with a stranger who was leaning up against a wall, smiling and laughing. Bellamy snapped, lunging forward and throwing the stranger against the wall, hand wrapped around his neck.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, shaking him. “Why are you here?”

“Woah, woah! Bellamy, hey, knock it off, man!” Miller and Wick had flown into action the second Bellamy grabbed Monty, and it took the both of them to pull him off, only to have him turn on them.

“Who the hell is that? Why did you let him in here? What the hell are you all thinking?!” 

“Take it easy, Bell,” Wick soothed, hands against his friend’s chest, hoping to calm him down. “That’s Monty, Clarke knew him from school. He’s a good guy, Maya’s replacement. He’s smart, he found the breach and updated our entire system.”

“He’s useful,” Miller added. “And he’s probably committed everything about us to memory by now. The only way he’s getting out now, is if we kill him.”

“And I would really prefer to keep living.” Monty had regained his voice, though it was scratchy, and he rubbed his throat slowly, taking deep, raspy breaths.

Bellamy ignored Monty. “You guys did this without me? Didn’t think to even _try_ contacting me? What the _hell?_ You all stood behind this?”

“Hey, it was Clarke’s idea,” Wick said, holding up his hands in surrender. “We just thought it was the best choice we had at the time. If it makes you feel any better, Raven, and Monroe said no.”

“Of course it was Clarke’s idea,” Bellamy muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Christ.” He turned pointed at Monty. “Don’t make me kill you, man. It’s messy, and Miller clearly has a thing for you.”

\---

Having Monty around made things a lot easier for everyone, but the big surprise was Jasper. He stopped sulking around in the basement 24/7. He only got drunk a few nights a week as opposed to the usual six. He would make actual, intelligent, productive conversation from time to time, and overall started to revert back to his normal self. It was quite the miracle, and no one could figure out what exactly it was about Monty that had flipped the switch, but it didn’t matter. They were grateful.

Monty didn’t just pull Jasper out of his depression. His presence helped Emori tremendously. Now that she wasn’t the only one responsible for keeping an eye on the computers, she could finally relax a little. She was able to spend more time with Murphy, and it definitely made the latter of the two less surly. And a less surly Murphy made for an all-around happier—albeit a mildly suspicious—team. 

And Monty was _good._ No one would say it, for fear of ruining Jasper’s good mood, but he rivaled Maya. He updated all of the technology in the house almost instantly upon his arrival, and even set up a system that would send an alert to everyone in the group’s phones whenever it detected something big enough to warrant at least considering turning the event into a job, whether it be a prestigious traveling art installation or a private collector coming into town. He fit in nearly seamlessly with everyone, so when he suggested that they make it a top priority to get a bug into the Grounder’s intel system, no one questioned it. They just made the plans and sent Clarke out to a bar in another skimpy dress to seduce one of Anya’s techie grunts long enough to pickpocket his phone and slip it to Monty at a nearby table. He hacked into it, and then put it back before the Grounder even knew it had gone missing.

The bug that Monty put into the system wasn’t perfect. It was more of a working prototype he had created. It didn’t give the Rebels full access to any files that were stored in their rivals’ database, but it targeted keywords and sent alerts back to Monty and Emori’s computers, allowing them to view any data containing the keywords and then report back to Bellamy to decide whether or not to take action. The thing was undetectable, unless you were really searching for it. And even then, it would take someone with serious skill to pinpoint and destroy it. He and Emori were working on updating the bug further, to the point where they may even be able to use it to remove any traces of the file of soft targets that had been stolen from them. It was a small glimmer of hope to everyone. 

In the meantime, they used to bug to keep track of jobs the Grounders were picking up. When Bellamy deemed it appropriate, they would case the joint themselves before the other group could get there, which often resulted in an increase in security measures and close calls with the law for the Grounders by the time they got there a few days later. It made them look sloppy, and it brought everyone great joy. Bellamy and Raven especially reveled in the fact that they had to be making Lexa furious. 

Everything was going really well for a while. The Rebels were on top of things, morale was high, and there was no indication that Anya had managed to crack the file of soft targets yet. 

So it only made sense that things were going to go bad eventually.

One morning, Emori got an alert on her computer about an upcoming Grounders’ job at a warehouse on the outside of town. It was a building they had cased a year or so ago, which meant that the buzz following their little heist had died down and the security wasn’t the owner’s top priority anymore. It was the perfect place, because it only took all of a few hours to lay down a plan that everyone felt confident in. Knowing the warehouse was definitely to their advantage, and Bellamy decided it was safe to go that night.

From the little that they knew, it wasn’t going to be a huge haul. Just a shipment of a few boxes of electronics, things that they could turn around quickly for an easy profit. It only required a few of their members, and since it was known territory, it was a good opportunity to get Monty in the field for something bigger than planting bugs. In the end, it was Monty, Bellamy, Monroe, Emori, and Murphy that went. Clarke was at her mother’s house for their monthly dinner, something that Abby had demanded become a tradition. Clarke only went along with it to avoid any unnecessary conflict with her mother, and to keep her suspicions about what she was doing at bay. Raven had gone out and gotten wasted the night before, and was in the ever-repeating cycle of puking her guts out and laying splayed over the couch, moaning about how she never should have taken body shots off of the guy with the abs. It took everything that Miller, Wick, and Jasper had to deal with the mess that had taken the form of Raven Reyes. 

The place was mostly dark when the car rolled up to the warehouse. A single light on the outside illuminated a small, round patch of ground, right in front of the door. Murphy slipped out of the backseat of the car and aimed a shot at the light from his silenced pistol, and effectively shattered it, casting the place into total darkness. Monty and Emori had set up their equipment on the way over, and moved to their places in the back of the van, in front of the computers and microphones, while everyone else filed out silently and headed for the building. 

“Get the door, Bell,” Monroe whispered, “Murphy and I’ll cover you.” Bellamy nodded and crouched down to pick the lock. The door swung open easily, and they all slipped inside. 

“Don’t move,” Emori said, her voice coming over the earpiece that all three of them wore. “There’s a camera to your right, just give Monty a second to disable it.” There was the sound of keyboard keys clicking rapidly, and then—“You’re good.” Bellamy gave a silent nod, and he and Murphy split off into the hallway on the left, while Monroe took the one on the right.

As he and Murphy crept through the corridors, Bellamy noticed that the interior of the warehouse didn’t seem like it had changed much since the last time they were there, and he could have laughed out loud at how easy this job was going to be. They hadn’t gotten this lucky in a long time. “Hey,” Murphy hissed, jerking his head in the direction of a set of shelves just to the right of them. “I’ll check these. You go up ahead.”

Not too much later, Bellamy found his own shelf of boxes to sort through. The labels on them read with the right products inside—laptops, cell phones, ect.—but the date that they had been shipped was over a week old. According to the information they had received that morning, this supply was only supposed to have come in the night before. He tried to convince himself that he was remembering it wrong, but to quiet his suspicions, he grabbed a box cutter and sliced open one of the packages. 

Panic welled up in his chest. Something was seriously wrong. All of the sudden, he was on high alert and raced back to where he had left Murphy. “The boxes—they’re—“ Murphy began as soon as he caught sight of Bellamy.

“Empty. I know. We’ve got to find Monroe and leave, now.”

\---

Back in the van, Emori and Monty watched their screens diligently, but it seemed that all the active cameras were in other parts of the building, that Murphy, Bellamy, and Monroe were steering clear of. Monty had redirected the feed from the camera just inside the door so that the thermal feed was running to his computer, and his only. It was a pretty impressive piece of work, if he said so himself.  
“Monty,” Emori said slowly, pointing at two red blips on the screen, in addition to the three that they had been tracking. “They aren’t alone.”  
Monty’s face paled, and he switched his microphone on. “Guys, you need to get out of there, now. We messed up, missed something, I don’t know, but you guys aren’t—“ He was cut off by the sound of a gunshot echoing across the grounds from inside the warehouse.  
\---

A gunshot rang out from the other side of the building.

“Monroe,” Bellamy and Murphy breathed out at the same time, and left all semblance of being inconspicuous in the dust as they raced towards the sound. They found the girl on her knees, gun aimed at the shelves above her as she swept the area for whoever had the audacity to shoot at her. She didn’t even seem to realize that she was bleeding heavily from a wound in her side.

“C’mon, we’re leaving,” Bellamy said, grabbing her arm and trying to help her stand, but she wrenched away from him. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, reaching for her again. There was no way she was going to make it back to the car on her own. She needed help if any of them were going to get out of this alive.

“It was Grounders,” she hissed. “I saw their stupid black war paint. We can’t just let them get away!”

“If we stay, you’re going to bleed out!” They probably didn’t have long now before the cops showed up, called by a concerned neighbor who had heard gunfire.

Monroe yanked up the side of her shirt to inspect it briefly, and quickly shoved it back down. “It’s fine,” she said curtly. “Now let’s find these assholes.”

Murphy and Bellamy shared a look and instantly came to a decision. Bellamy swatted the gun out of her hand, and by the time he had reached down to grab it off the floor and tuck it into his waistband, Murphy had scooped Monroe up and was already making for the door.

“Start it up,” Emori instructed Monty as soon as she saw the boys running across the grass towards them. As they got closer, she selfishly let out a sigh of relief that it hadn’t been Murphy that had been shot. Monty crawled over the seats and turned the key in the ignition while Emori threw open the back doors of the van. The three came crashing into the back, Murphy doing his best to lay Monroe down gently as Monty jerked the wheel and hit the gas.

“Hospital?” he asked, breathing heavily. He was met with a chorus of “No!”s, the most vehement one coming from Monroe herself. “Then what are we doing?!” He demanded. 

“Just go home,” Bellamy snapped, frantically trying to find stop the bleeding with his jacket. “We’ll call Clarke.”

“On it,” Emori said grimly, phone already to her ear.

“What it he hit her kidney or something though? Clarke never actually finished med school, guys!”

“It didn’t lacerate my fucking kidney,” Monroe snarled through her teeth, digging her nails into the palm of her own hand. “Just drive the damn car.”

“Clarke is on her way,” Emori announced, hanging up her phone. “She’s calling the boys and having them set up and sterilize everything. It sounds like we’re doing this on the counter.”

“Not my top choice of things to do on the counter,” Murphy muttered, earning a withering glare from his girlfriend, and a weak laugh from Monroe.

“I’m telling you, guys, I’m fine. Honestly,” Monroe said, even though her eyes were glazing over slightly. 

“Hey, hey, don’t give up now,” Bellamy said, gripping her shaking hand with his blood soaked one. “We’ll be home soon, and Clarke is going to get this bullet out, and you’ll be fine.” He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if she died. If he was the reason they lost another member of the team, he would never forgive himself. 

“All I want is to get back at the bastard that killed me,” she murmured weakly.

“And we will. You will. But you can’t do that if you leave us, Zoe.”

“It’s Monroe,” she tried to snap, but only ended up gasping painfully, without any real venom in her tone. And that was the last thing she said before her grip went limp in Bellamy’s hand, and she passed out.

Murphy hesitantly reached towards her neck, almost afraid of what he would—or wouldn’t—find at her pulse point. “Weak, but it’s there.”

\---

By the time Murphy had carried Monroe from the van to the kitchen, Clarke had everything she needed set up on the counter. “Jesus,” she whispered, upon seeing her friend’s pale face, in stark contrast to the red that seemed to coat every inch of her torso. She took a deep breath and steeled herself, rolled up her sleeves, and nodded at the sheet of plastic she had spread out. “Put her there.” 

“Is she going to be alright? Is she going to feel anything?” Emori asked, worriedly.

“It’s probably better that she’s unconscious for this,” Clarke grimaced.

It took a couple hours, but eventually the blonde managed to extract the bullet, as well as the few fragments that had splintered off. Monroe was still dead to the world at the moment, but Clarke was fairly confident that she would wake up. She’d have a new line of stitches, and a lot of blood to wash off her body, but she’d be alive, and that was all anyone cared about.

Once she was stable, Wick carried Monroe gently out to the living room and she her on one of the couches while the other four who had been in the field took turns showering and scrubbing their friend’s blood off of their hands and out of their hair. Afterwards, Bellamy and Clarke sent everyone home for the evening, promising to call the second there was any change in Monroe’s condition, and the two of them, plus Raven, collapsed next to one another on the other couch. The three of them were quiet for a long time, until Raven fell asleep with her head in Clarke’s lap.

With a soft sigh, the blonde ran her fingers through the other girl’s hair gently. “What does this mean?” she asked softly, not bothering to look up from the dark hair splayed across her lap.

“The Grounders getting the jump on us?” A single nod. “It means they know about the bug. They figured it out, and now we don’t have a plan. Lexa still has the file, and as of now, we’re screwed.”

They fell into another long lapse of silence and when he spoke up again, she looked up and met Bellamy’s eyes in surprise. “You—You did good today,” he said gruffly. The corner of her mouth quirked up slightly in response to his rough compliment.

“I was terrified,” she admitted, shaking her head sadly. “I knew she needed me, but all I could think about the entire time was how I wasn’t even certified to be doing what I was doing. I was only halfway through my second year of med school when I quit. Hell, I didn’t even know what kind of surgeon I wanted to be.”

“Hey, take it easy,” Bellamy murmured, squeezing her shoulder. “You came through, Clarke. I knew you would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully anyone's who's read my Memori fic understood Murphy's "That's not at the top of my list of things to do on the counter" line ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Title and inspiration from the song "Partner in Crime" by Lit.


End file.
